Chilled
by jadedcrystalide
Summary: Every time it happened he woke up with a sore back, a crick in his neck, a headache that refused to fade away even after swallowing a handful of aspirin. If you told him that one day a beautiful man on a motorbike would take him into his arms and show him what it was like to be loved, he would have laughed. (5 times Yuri Plisetsky had to sleep on a bench, and one time he didn't.)


**I wanted to do one of those 5+1 things, a.k.a Local Depressed Lesbian Has Three Ongoing Angst Fics (if youre reading Haze or Breathe Easy, Class E2 i love you hey hows it going).**

 **This fic was inspired by two official images of Yuri lying on a bench. One is in the ending credits and includes Mila piling cat plushies on him, the other is a post on his Instagram (if you google 'yuri on ice ED instagram posts' there should be a tumblr post with them on, one is of Yuri lying on a bench rip).** **oooobviously the creators didnt have homeless yuri in mind when creating them but i just thought it was interesting how he's drawn to be lying on benches late at night and so my angst filled mind came up with this**

 **it starts off pretty soft but it'll get more angsty as it goes on**

 **anyway hope u enjoy love yall!**

He was six years old the first time it happened. December had planted its roots in the cracked city concrete, a layer of snow covered the plants that were fighting through gaps in pavement tiles. Blue mittens covered cold-kissed fingers and tried desperately to keep them warm, but still he shivered, still he clutched his coat closer to his chest and broke into a small sprint in his desperation to get home. Not even the fairy lights that hung from garden trees and screamed Christmas cheer could lighten the gloom of the streets. Especially not in this neighbourhood.

His school satchel hung from one arm, hitting his leg in a rhythmic _bump, bump, bump,_ like a bass drum in a marching band. And just like a bass drum, the sound seemed to echo off every surface, every peeling wall and overturned trash can. It made him anxious. The contents of it were nothing more than mundane- a reading book, a water bottle, a poorly-drawn poster detailing the key facts about the Greeks- yet he couldn't help but scrunch his face up and will for them to just be _quieter._

Noise was bad. Noise attracted unwanted attention, and as Grandpa had said, "you don't want to stand out around these parts, boy".

After school club had kept him back until 6pm, and in the wintry darkness walking home had been a little scary, but that wasn't anything new. Grandpa was always so tired after work and couldn't pick him up, mama seemed to disappear in the evening doing god knew that. All Yuri was aware of was that she left in sparkly dresses and arrived in the early hours of the morning slurring her speech and stumbling as she made her way to her bedroom.

He was too little to understand everything, though he wasn't stupid. Mama wasn't like the kind women at school who had soft hands and smiley faces. The women who greeted their children at 3pm, gave them kisses and asked about their day. Those mamas were kind and smelled of lavender. His mama scowled and wouldn't let him get close enough for him to be able to recognise her perfume.

But it was okay. He was used to that, too, just like he was used to walking home alone, just like he was used to sitting alone in school because he was bad at making friends, like he had become resistant to the pain of a hairbrush being roughly tugged through blond strands. So many things he was used to, things that didn't make him cry anymore. Grandpa helped him though most of it. He would hold his grandson in his arms and whisper loving words and affirmations and tell him that it was okay.

As long as he had Grandpa, everything was going to be okay.

So he was surprised when one December evening he knocked on the frost-covered door of his childhood home and wasn't greeted with an answer. It was a special knock, with two fast taps and three slower ones, a knock that Grandpa would have instantly recognised. Usually warm, open arms would be waiting for him, lips to kiss his forehead, words to ask him what he wanted for dinner. Grandpa's beard tickled his cheeks but it was always a welcomed sensation. He spent all after school club daydreaming about seeing his Grandpa once 6pm finally rolled around (and no, Miss Dostoevskaia, he _didn't_ want to pay attention to the stupid film and he _wasn't_ going to get his head out the clouds), therefore when his knocks were met with silence he felt his heart drop.

The door was always kept locked. Thieves and bandits roamed the alleyways, apparently, and Yuri didn't know what a 'bandit' was outside of story books, but he admitted that they sounded terrifying and agreed that the door should be kept locked whenever possible. Who knew who would break in to mug an old man and his fairy-like grandchild? Which meant that he had to knock whenever he came home.

Which also meant that he couldn't just twist the handle and invite himself in if there was no reply.

He knocked again, a little frantically this time, and bent down to shout through the letterbox, hoping that maybe Grandpa was just in the bathroom or in the kitchen with the noisy washing machine and didn't hear the knocking. That exact situation had happened many times in the past; the small apartment amplified any noise within, be it a toilet flushing or a rowdy conversation, therefore Yuri put the silence down to a simple misunderstanding. Grandpa would run to the door once he heard Yuri's cries, apologise profusely, and everything would carry on as normal.

Except there was no answer this time. Nor the next, or the next, or even when he threw himself over the small gate separating the front garden from the back and started hammering on every window within arm's reach. At that point he was just annoyed. It was cold and his fingertips were numb and he wanted a mug of hot cocoa. How could he get a mug of hot cocoa if Grandpa was playing silly games and ignoring him?

Yuri stopped, breathing heavily after his desperate knocking, and tried to evaluate the situation. Maybe Grandpa was visiting their elderly neighbour, Mr Sokolov, to help with chores, since he was _really_ old and couldn't get out of bed very easily anymore. Maybe he was taking mama to wherever her strange work place was (no-one had ever specified, so Yuri assumed it was a secret for some reason). Or perhaps he had forgotten about the time and made a quick trip to the corner store to buy some milk or the daily newspaper, and would come walking up the path any minute.

That seemed like the most logical explanation. Content with his reasoning, Yuri perched on the doorstep and waited.

A robin landed on a nearby branch and stared at him, red breast glimmering in the sepia streetlight. It didn't seem scared of a human's presence and continued hopping from twig to twig, stopping occasionally to peck at the bark or ruffle its feathers, making its journey down the barren tree and onto the snow-covered floor below. Funny, Yuri thought, how a bird with nothing but feathers to keep it warm seemed so at home among the ice, while he was still shivering and blowing on his fingers to warm them up.

The robin stayed for a while. It paced back and forth, probably looking for food, trying to find tiny bugs underneath the snow and frozen dirt. All in vain, of course. Eventually it gave up and started to explore instead. The patio was the most fascinating thing it had ever seen, evidenced by the fact that it immediately flew over when it spied the grey gravel, pecking at the cracks and loose stones. It was coming closer to a delighted Yuri with every step.

 _Stay still,_ the little boy had told himself, _don't scare him away._ But eventually his curiosity and memories of the _Mary Poppins_ song 'Feed The Birds' got the better of him and he tentatively reached a hand out. The robin flew away instantly. Tiny footprints in the snow were the only reminder of a temporary friend.

He waited some more. The sun had fully disappeared below the horizon now, leaving only a few poorly-working streetlights to provide any illumination. If he glanced up and down the street he would see that many houses still had their lights on, and probably their heaters, too, but that would lead him to think about his warm bed and that mug of hot cocoa, so Yuri remained with his eyes fixed to the floor. He was a little bit scared of the dark, if he was being honest. Not that he ever voiced that or let it bother him. He was a big boy, and big boys knew that monsters didn't exist and that the dark held nothing but timid foxes and shy raccoons.

It was a Friday. Luckily he didn't have school the next day and didn't have to worry about missing his bedtime. Grandpa had always told him that he needed to be asleep by 7, half past at the latest, but no later than that otherwise he would be overly tired and his brain would be too fuzzy for school. Weekends were an exception; him and Grandpa would snuggle up on the couch and watch films, usually ones they had watched many times before, yet they never grew old. He could mouth along to _The Wizard of Oz,_ he knew all the songs in _Oliver!._ Old musicals that his Grandpa had grown up with were Yuri's favourite. He loved those weekend nights, even if Grandpa often fell asleep halfway through.

That was where he craved to be now. Surrounded by blankets and loose pieces of popcorn, perched under Grandpa's arm. Mama would be out and they would have some peace without her annoyed shouting and glaring.

But instead he was sitting on a cold doorstop in a cold garden on a cold winter's evening, and he was _cold._ He was cold when he was walking home and he was cold when he was sitting outside his home.

And he was even colder an hour later when Grandpa still hadn't turned up.

Panic had started to settle at the bottom of his stomach, making him clasp his hands around his middle, taking deep breaths and blinking back tears and fatigue. Though he tried to stop himself, his mind was wandering to dark places and suggesting things that only made him feel worse: what if he had been hit by a car? Fallen down the stairs and broke his neck? Abducted by those bandits he always warned Yuri about? What if the life had been draining out of him while Yuri simply sat on the doorstep, watching robins and humming _Pick a Pocket or Two_ to himself?

Grandpa was all he had. Mama didn't count- she didn't really like her son and wasn't around enough to make a difference- so Yuri and Grandpa had grown very close over the years. He didn't know what he would do without his familiar scent and face and the way he would wrap both arms around his back when he hugged him, enclosing Yuri in his safe, comforting embrace. The thought of never having one of those hugs again brought tears to green eyes and Yuri backhanded them away.

No. _No,_ he was being overdramatic. Grandpa was fine, was probably just caught up in something. Someone would have been sent to look after Yuri if anything truly bad had happened.

All Yuri could do was wait. And until then, he had to look after himself, had to show Grandpa that he was a big boy and wasn't afraid of the monsters. The first thing to do was find somewhere safe to stay.

Thoughts of the bandits wouldn't escape his daydreams, so Yuri began walking again, partly to distract himself but partly to get away from the neighbourhood. He had little idea what a bandit looked like- in the stories they had black and white stripy tops and wore eye masks, but in real life Grandpa had said that bandit could look "just like you and me, Yura". Either way, Yuri didn't want to take any chances. He stayed close to the inside of the sidewalk and crossed the road whenever he saw the figure of another person.

Past the corner shop, past the run-down Church, past the day care that he used to attend when he was little. All of those places were in the neighbourhood and thus a source of danger. They seemed innocent enough. A Ukrainian man named Kostyantyn ran the shop, and he never seemed to mind when they were a few pence short when buying groceries. The Church was still used by a few people, and besides, who would deface the building of God? Neither Yuri nor Grandpa were religious, however Grandpa had always told him to respect God's name and the people who worshiped Him. The day care was nothing but a source of joy for little children, and he couldn't imagine any bandits lurking behind the sunshine-yellow fence that bordered it.

Regardless, it was better to be safe than sorry. He kept walking until he was confident he was out of the neighbourhood and recognised the bushes and shrubs that bordered to pathway of a nearby park.

It _had_ to be past his bedtime by now. No dogs were running around the neatly trimmed fields, no joggers were on their evening run, no mothers shushed babies who were crying in pushchairs. Beneath the chills and the anxiety, Yuri was feeling a swell of excitement. He had never been out this late before, not even with Grandpa, let alone by himself. Surrounded by the trees and lampposts and signs about the types of birds to spot made him feel more at ease.

He liked it there. During Summer him and Grandpa spent a lot of time at the park. A lot of people liked to rent out boats to paddle on the huge pond, but they preferred to play with a beaten-up Frisbee and eat cheese sandwiches, and sometimes they would talk to other pedestrians who would let Yuri throw a ball for their dog. Even if they didn't have the spare money for the boats or the fishing tours or even the beach chairs, they still managed to have fun, and Yuri would always leave excited for the next time Grandpa would take him there.

Winter had stripped the place of its lush greenery and left it looking sad. Trees that once boasted colourful leaves now waved at him with bare branches. Pansies and tulips and daisies had died and left a sad patch of dirt in their wake. In Summer, ice cream vans would play pretty music that drifted through the air. Now all Yuri could hear was the sound of his shoes crunching in the snow.

After a few minutes of following the path, he become aware of the ache in his legs. Walking to school and back was quite a fair distance, and the challenge of walking to the park as well resulted in him limping in his school shoes and looking for any place where he could sit down. Sitting on snow would give him a wet bottom and would make him even colder, so obviously he didn't want to do that, although everywhere he looked his was met with the same blank, white sheet. If only there were trees to provide him some shelter-

He stopped all of a sudden. Just a few days before, he'd had a lesson in science class about types of trees, including which trees lost their leaves and what didn't. The ones that didn't were called deciduous trees, he remembered that clearly, but what were the ones that kept their leaves all year round? Evergreen?

Yes, evergreen. Which included hemlock, holly, some other exotic foliage that he couldn't pronounce… and something else. Something that was linked to a memory that he associated with the park.

It was a day in August when him and Grandpa had decided to venture further into the park, into a place where he had never been before. Most of the time they liked to stay in their comfort zone and kept to the wide, open fields, which gave them plenty of room to chase the Frisbee and lay their picnic blanket down. But one day Yuri was feeling adventurous and had taken his Grandpa's hand and pulled him down the path, past a hotdog stand, through an archway that neither of them recognised. And through he archway there had been…

 _"Christmas trees! Look, Grandpa!"_

 _"Yes, Yuratchka. They're called fir trees. Did you know, fir trees keep their leaves all year round?"_

 _"Really?"_

 _"Indeed. So do pine trees, and cedar trees. There are pine trees all around here. This place must look lovely in winter."_

Suddenly Yuri broke into a sprint, running as fast as his shaking legs would carry him. He hoped and prayed that he remembered the way to that little spot. This time there would be no hotdog stand to act as a landmark, no sun to guide the way. All he had was the glowing streetlamps and his own sense of direction.

When he saw the archway, Yuri's eyes widened in excitement and he willed himself to keep running, pumping his arms and gasping, leaving little clouds of hot air behind whenever he breathed out. Sports teachers always said that exercise warmed you up, though it didn't seem to be working this time. It didn't matter. He was nearly there, he was nearly to the archway, and behind it was the scene that had filled him with wonder a few months before.

Grandpa was correct: it did look lovely in the winter. Actually, it looked more than lovely, it looked _beautiful_ and Yuri wished that he had found this little spot sooner. Unlike the rest of the park, this area seemed relatively undisturbed. Not a single piece of trash glimmered in the moonlight. There wasn't even a proper path, save from a few large slabs of concrete that served as stepping stones. No streetlamps, either, leaving the moon to illuminate his surroundings. As much as he hated snow and ice, Yuri could quickly admit that it looked pretty.

And the _trees._ Oh, Yuri had never been so grateful to see a tree as he was when his eyes gazed at the firs and the pines that stood proudly, their leaves swaying lightly, as if they were welcoming the little boy into their territory. Some were tiny, delicate saplings, not much bigger than Yuri himself. Others were clearly decades old and he couldn't see the top of them even when he leaned right back and looked up to the sky. It was these bigger ones that were most useful to him; their branches stuck out enough to prevent snow from falling around the trunk, leaving a ring of bare ground that was cushioned with brown pine needles.

He stumbled forward ungracefully. Of course it would still be freezing underneath the trees, however at least he would be away from the snow and wouldn't get damp from its crystals.

There was something else under the trees, and he noticed it instantly. For a brief few seconds he froze in fear, his brain instantly assuming that it was a bear or a knife-wielding maniac, then he relaxed and took a step forward. Then another, and another, until he was close enough to touch it.

It was a bench. A wooden bench by the looks of it, and the feel of it, too, because Yuri didn't hesitate to sit down and lean back with a sigh. His legs were _throbbing,_ a headache was teasing him at the back of his skull. The thought of his bed brought lustful tears to his eyes and he wanted nothing more than a cuddle from Grandpa.

No point in thinking about that, not now, not when he had walked so far and had found such a beautiful place all on his own. Safety was important, and Yuri had achieved that without the help from grown-ups. He had found safety in the form of pine trees and a wooden bench and the feeling of exhaustion that he finally allowed to settle in his bones.

Without thinking about it, he leaned back, brought his legs up until he was lying down fully, ignoring the chills that were constantly running through his skin. His coat and mittens were useless in the midnight breeze. He was too tired to care.

Another memory came to him, of watching a film with Grandpa, a cartoon called _Anastasia_ that was about a missing Russian princess. One particular scene pictured her ballroom dancing with ghostly figures that glided across the floor, as if they were dancing on a sheet of glass. Yuri loved that scene. He always thought they looked so elegant and beautiful and he secretly wanted to be just like them.

Which made him think of ice dancers, and the blades they wore on their feet, the pretty costumes they wore that sparked as they twirled through the air. So graceful, so perfect. Yuri wanted to be graceful and perfect. He was bored of being that lonely kid at school who didn't have a proper mama and tripped over his own feet when he walked.

In the morning, he would find out that Grandpa had simply fallen asleep, and he'd be so embarrassed by his overreaction that he wouldn't tell him about how he had run away in the snow to the confines of a park. Yuri wouldn't mention it, and even though he wanted to tell Grandpa about the beautiful trees, he promised himself to keep it a secret.

He did mention something else, however. He mentioned how beautiful he found ice skaters and how he wanted to be like the men in the films and on the Olympics.

Because as the 6-year-old was drifting off to sleep on the bench, eyes stinging and skin shivering, he couldn't help but watch the snow glimmer and think that maybe ice wasn't so bad after all.

 **pls review if you liked it! it makes my heart warm i live for Validation and Attention**

 **and thanks for reading! like i said, it'll get more angsty after this so be aware of that lmao**


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